


Possession

by Meatball42



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Claiming, Gen, Love, M/M, Non-sexual, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Not for the faint of heart, Torture, Twisted, Unhealthy Relationships, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7881703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The soldier brings down the switch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> So friend, I immediately wanted to write you something when I saw you were participating in fandomgiftbox. I remembered you from way back at rounds_of_kink, when I was too much of a baby to do more than sneak around and read things, but I was determined to pay back in some small way all the fics of yours I adored. However, from what I remembered, your usual tastes were wayyy more kinky and violent than mine, so I decided to get drunk and write something far past my usual stomping grounds.
> 
> Come to find I may have gone a bit too far. After going through your request lists again, I realized this might actually be a bit scarier/more explicit than you like. In retrospect I think my tastes have expanded in the intervening years, so 'wayyy more kinky' than me is actually pretty fucking kinky by this point. In the end, I hope you manage to find something to enjoy in this here ficlet, and that you accept my gratitude for introducing me to a number of my favorite kinks :)

The soldier brings down the switch. His victim twitches, an instinctual response, and a punched out noise fills the damp concrete basement. In the single bare bulb lighting the room, the blood trailing in rivulets down the man’s back glints a deep, deep red. The soldier licks his lips and shivers with the desire to lick the blood, to kiss the raw, shaking meat he’s torn asunder.

The soldier flicks his wrist again, almost without care. The victim whines this time, summoning energy from some unknown depth to writhe on the cold metal chair to which he’s tied. His sweat gleams in the thin, angular light, and the muscles tensing under his skin cast dancing shadows over stark flesh.

A few strikes later, the dark rivers are splattering and pooling on the floor, filling puddles already deeply stained in the concrete. This is not the first time the soldier has visited this treatment upon his guest, nor is it the dozenth, but that doesn’t lessen the pleasure it brings him.

The man’s torso heaves with irrepressible sobs. The moans that strike the hard walls of the basement are uncontrolled, animal, and helpless. The soldier smiles, savoring the human essence converted into sound. There is nothing more pure than the base cries of a human begging without words, that audible grasping for leniency when it knows none will arrive. He drops the switch and steps forward to rub roughly over the man’s back.

His touch draws a cry out of the man, broken and sharp. High-pitched, like a girl’s. He’d use that, taunt the man with it, if his victim were anywhere near conscious enough for such a barb to find its mark. As it is, he merely traces the edges of the wounds he’s caused and enjoys the weak screams he draws out. The soldier squeezes enfeebled muscle like a trainer weighing a racehorse; he’s seeing how much the man shivers, how much there is left in him.

His skin hand brushes through the man’s hair, reveling in the intimate feel of the short blonde strands against his fingers. He grips, hard, and pulls, and the scalp tugs the man’s motionless head up until it points at the bright bulb, until the soldier can see the face smeared with tears and snot and drool, hanging hopeless and pained in the white light.

“Had enough, dear one?” the soldier murmurs. The man does not open his eyes, so the soldier shakes him.

Now, his eyes crack, drop open, unable to control their movement. They stare blankly, despairing, and the man moans again, a cracked, terrible thing, full of agony and dismay. The soldier shakes the man’s skull by his grip, and the man’s gaze only lolls to the side.

Torturing someone beyond words is no accomplishment; pain will do that. Even torturing someone beyond presence isn’t hard.

But bringing someone- especially this man, whose healing factor and determination of spirit were lauded across continents- to a place of inhumanity, where he will no longer fight the barbarity, but simply let it carry him in waves, is a feat to be celebrated.

The soldier leans in and brushes his lips along the cheek of the former Captain of America. “You’re mine,” he whispers.

The man’s eyes droop closed. The soldier has won.

 

~

 

The soldier’s movements are slow and methodical as he wipes the worst of the blood away from Steve’s back. He unbuckles the heavy manacles from Steve’s wrists and examines the joints for swelling or excessive ligature marks. He checks Steve’s pulse once, twice, three times, before determining that the mission is a success.

The soldier closes his eyes.

 

~

 

Bucky opens his eyes. Steve is flopped forward across a metal chair, unconscious or nearly so. His back is a tormented mess of lacerations, several of which are still bleeding. Bucky’s heart races until he can feel it in the center of his chest, throughout his torso. He makes himself breathe steadily.

Steve needs him now. The mission is not over.

Bucky kneels in front of Steve, uses his warm hand to cup Steve’s chin until he can look at his face. With a damp cloth, he washes away the worst of the mess there and croons sweet words until Steve blinks blearily.

“I’m done,” he says. His voice trembles, but his metal hand is rock steady as it slowly cards through Steve’s hair.

For all that Bucky is ashamed of his need for this, hates himself every time he comes up for what he does to Steve, the man who deserves pain least of anyone in the world, there is a part of him, deep, deep down, that never quiets until it has claimed Steve in the most savage way possible.

But now, Bucky can be at peace.

Steve wakes up slightly, enough to lock his eyes on Bucky’s. Through all the pain and exhaustion he’s feeling, he manages to twitch one side of his mouth up in a crooked smile that is still sweeter than anything Bucky can imagine.

“How do you feel?” Steve whispers. His voice is raw from screaming.

A tear slips down Bucky’s cheek. “I love you,” he vows.

Steve’s acceptance burns into Bucky’s soul. “I love you, too.”


End file.
